"Fourteen years." Snape's expression remained unreadable.
Orli kept her head down, ostensibly focused on her cauldron while her ears tracked every word. In her distraction, she missed Harry adding something catastrophically wrong—his potion hissed like an angry snake, shifting from blue-green to alarming orange.
"Oh. Oh." Umbridge scratched notes across her parchment. "Well then, let's see—these fifth years are only fifteen. About as long as you've been teaching here. Isn't that right, Miss Waters?"
Orli looked up, meeting Umbridge's gaze.
"Just imagine," Umbridge continued, voice dripping with insinuation, "when you first arrived to teach at Hogwarts, Miss Waters was barely one year old..."
The classroom erupted in low buzzing—dozens of whispered conversations igniting at once.
"I'm sorry, Pink Lady, what was that? I wasn't paying attention." Snape's voice was barely above a whisper, his lips hardly moving.
The buzzing doubled instantly.
"You—called—me—WHAT?!" Umbridge's saccharine smile vanished. Her bulging eyes threatened to pop from their sockets.
"My apologies. Your choice of attire is rather... conspicuous. I misspoke." The corner of Snape's mouth twitched—barely perceptible, but unmistakable.
They faced each other in silence. Orli's hands clenched into fists inside her sleeves. Every eye in the dungeon fixed on the standoff.
Finally, Umbridge spoke.
"I expect you not to mistake my name again—High Inquisitor Umbridge. Or Professor Umbridge."
"Of course. If our discussion remains focused on my actual curriculum, I won't be distracted." Snape's black eyes narrowed to slits.
"Very well." Umbridge's voice had lost all sweetness, replaced by something harsh and grating. "You applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position previously, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"But you were unsuccessful?"
"Obviously." Umbridge scrawled furiously on her clipboard.
"You've applied for the Defense position multiple times since joining the staff, haven't you?"
"Yes."
Snape moved away from Orli's table without expression, forcing Umbridge to follow him toward the center of the classroom.
"Do you know why Dumbledore has repeatedly rejected your applications?"
"I suggest you ask him." Snape's tone could have frozen fire.
"Oh, I certainly will." Umbridge shoved her quill and clipboard into her bag, snapping the clasp shut with a vicious click. She turned on her heel, marching toward Pansy Parkinson to interrogate her about the coursework instead.
Snape turned back. His gaze met Orli's briefly before dropping to Harry's cauldron. The potion had become murky sludge—color indeterminate, smell like burning rubber.
"Zero, Potter." Snape slashed his wand viciously, vanishing the contents entirely. "And you, Waters. Standing idle while Potter destroys his work—five points from Gryffindor."
Several Slytherins who'd been watching lost interest and looked away.
Orli kept her head down, silent. She felt no anger—only worry. Snape was publicly severing their connection, protecting her. What concerned her more was what Umbridge might do to him in retaliation.
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